


How Did I End Up Here?

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard reflects on how his life has changed since arriving on Saint Marie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Blocks of copy in italics indicate a flashback to a remembered conversation.

“How did I end up here?” was a question Richard Poole asked himself often. On one level, of course, he knew. Charlie Hulme was murdered; Richard was sent to investigate and then became trapped by Commissioner Patterson. Okay, so the _how_ was straightforward. But the _why_ was another question. Richard wondered what deity he’d managed to annoy sufficiently to be the one chosen to go to this hotter-than-hell island. 

No, it wasn’t a deity he’d annoyed. It was his colleagues. He’d never admitted it to himself, but deep down he knew that he hadn’t been liked at work. It hadn’t mattered much, as he’d always been a loner. Too studious to be “cool” to his classmates; too hard-working and serious to be “cool” to his colleagues. Too sober, as well. He felt he was on duty from the time he began work in the morning until he finished at night. Lunch time was “off duty,” to some extent, but as he’d be back at work after lunch, he did not consider it a time for drinking. That was definitely “uncool” as far as some of his colleagues were concerned. Well, if an alcoholic and slacker like Doug Anderson was “cool,” Richard preferred to be “uncool,” even if it meant the “cool” clique voted him off the island. Literally off his home island and onto this alien one. 

When Richard first discovered that he was being seconded to Saint Marie—and being forced to work with a difficult partner—he checked the Met website often, hoping to find an opening he could apply for. But his arrival on the island neatly coincided with post-recession reality. Budgets were frozen and vacated posts were not being filled. Reduction in force by attrition was better than redundancies, but either way it meant that Richard’s opportunities for a transfer back to London were minimal.

Richard soon discovered that his team on Saint Marie were in many ways better than his London colleagues. He hadn’t realized how spoiled he was in London until he discovered how far behind Saint Marie was in terms of technology. Ancient computers, no forensics lab, no ballistics, no access to fingerprint databases. He hated being dependent on outside sources and having to wait for information. Then there was transportation—only the one police car, and that was old; and the motorcycle with the terrifying side car. Yet despite the lack of resources, these people worked hard and got the job done. He’d never respected his London colleagues as much as he respected his Saint Marie team. 

Slowly, Richard’s interest in a transfer back to London dwindled. It wasn’t likely to happen, so he decided to get through each day as it came and not torture himself wanting something he couldn’t have. As time went on, he began to see some advantages of being on Saint Marie. For one thing, his team actually seemed to like him. Not just tolerate him. They _liked_ him. When they went for a drink after work and he had tea, they sometimes teased him—Camille more often than the others. But it was the gentle teasing of friendship, not scorn or ridicule. 

The cost of living was lower. He was making London wages, but not paying rent on his beach shack. And his London flat was on sublet, so he wasn’t losing money there. He’d saved quite a lot in the time he’d been on Saint Marie. After hitting the “big four-oh,” he’d been more conscious of the need to save for retirement and old age. Saint Marie was making it easier for him to do that.

Old age, indeed. Some days he felt he was there already. And looking at Camille didn’t help. She wasn’t that much younger than he was—seven or eight years, perhaps. But there were days when he felt like he was seventy and she was twenty. If he did a “pros and cons” list about living on Saint Marie, Camille would be in both columns. She was the best detective he’d ever worked with. She made him look at cases in new ways, which made him a better detective. She was kind, generous, and supportive. But on the “cons” side, she could drive him crazy. Sometimes it was her impatience and her temper, but always it was her beauty. That was distracting. Very distracting. 

Camille’s impatience had actually helped him adjust to Saint Marie in a surprising way. One afternoon when work was slow, he had been whinging on about lack of good tea, proper marmalade, and a host of other foods. Their conversation began with one of their typical miscommunications, although he preferred to think of it as Camille not understanding him.

_“And Kiplings! There’s another thing I miss.”_

_“The library might have them,” Camille suggested. “Or if not, you can probably download them. They’re old enough to be public domain.”_

_“Not Rudyard Kipling. Mr. Kipling’s cakes. Lemon slices, Battenburgs, and little apple pies.”_

_“I thought Battenberg was kind of lace.”_

_“No, it’s a cake.”_

_“We have cakes here.”_

_“Not the kind I’m talking about.”_

Camille had shaken her head and returned her attention to her computer. Ten minutes later, Richard received an email that said: “Stop complaining and DO something about it. Check these sites.” The message was followed by links to several sites that would ship foods internationally. He spent an hour happily doing a virtual walk down the virtual aisles of virtual stores. A few weeks later, his larder was stocked with many of his comfort foods. Even he noticed how much it reduced his crankiness. 

Now if only someone could do something about the heat. Even if he wanted to splurge and buy an air conditioner for his shack, he doubted the wiring could handle it. And the shack was so loosely constructed that cold air would continually seep out, making the whole business woefully inefficient. 

Richard supposed he should buy some climate-appropriate clothing. If he were a woman, he could ask another woman to act as shopping consultant. But men didn’t ask each other things like “where did you get that shirt?” He started paying attention to what other men wore. He wasn’t ready to try shorts, but he was getting an idea of the kind of casual trousers he might like. He wasn’t going to wear bright touristy shirts. Dwayne had a few shirts that could make a person’s eyes bleed. But there were some casual shirts that Richard thought might not look ridiculous on him.

Richard finally decided to ask his boss for advice in choosing a store—was there a good store for what he wanted on Saint Marie or should he go over to Guadeloupe? The Commissioner had been delighted to make suggestions. Richard was surprised at his interest in clothing, as the man almost always wore a uniform. Then Richard realized that Patterson was pleased because he thought the new clothing was a sign that his chief of police might be planning to stay on the island.

So far, Richard’s new khakis and golf shirt had been worn only at the shack on weekends when he didn’t expect anyone to stop by. He had to admit that it was much more comfortable to wear short sleeves and lightweight trousers. And he was almost ready to purchase a tropical-weight suit. But would a change in wardrobe be seen as a sign of commitment to staying? Was he ready to show such a sign?

While he was making up his mind about wardrobe adjustments, an opportunity arose for him to try out his new casual look in public. Well, not public exactly, but an informal event where someone else would be the focus of attention. Perhaps nobody would even notice what he wore and he was worrying for nothing. After all, it was Rosie’s first birthday party. The guests would all be fussing over her, and he could take his usual place in the background.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, God, how did I end up here?” Richard asked himself as the squeals of small children got louder. He was fond of little Rosie. He’d even babysat a few times. She was a sweet child, and seemed to be fascinated by him for some reason. It might be because he looked so different from her family and most of their friends. Or perhaps it was his accent. He enjoyed reading to her when he babysat. He could see his team glaze over when he went off on a tangent about some historical detail. But Rosie would listen, her big brown eyes never leaving his face. 

Another pair of brown eyes glared at him. “Richard! Did you hear me?”

“Hmm? Sorry.”

“I asked if you were going to watch the kids play tag over there.”

“Um, I don’t really—”

“Ah, Camille,” said David, Juliet’s father. “Some of us prefer a bit of peace and quiet, you know?”

“Well, I’m going to play with the kids,” and Camille skipped off to join the noisy group. 

“Thank you, sir,” said Richard.

“Oh, please, don’t call me sir. I got that from Fidel until they’d been married for over a year. Call me David, Inspector.”

“Then it’s Richard.”

“So, Richard, you aren’t fond of little ones?”

“In smaller, quieter numbers, they’re fine. But you know the concept of critical mass?”

“Well put!” David laughed. “I do, indeed, know what you mean. I think of children as exponential.”

“How so?”

“One is just one. But two is like having four, and three is like having nine!”

“Ah. And how many did you have?”

“Using my math, sixteen. Three boys and Juliet.”

Richard laughed, “I’m an only child, so I was always just one.”

“I had three brothers and two sisters. I imagine it can be a lonely life being just one.”

“Yes, it is sometimes.”

“I think Fidel and Juliet want to give Rosie a baby brother or sister in a year or two.”

“I hope that he or she is as well behaved as Rosie. She is a sweet child.”

“Well, of course she is!” David said proudly. “She’s my grandchild. She’s the only grandchild on both sides, which explains the huge party and mountain of gifts. My wife keeps asking our two married sons when they’re going to give us grandchildren. The single one gets nagged about finding a wife.”

“Women do have that Noah’s ark notion, don’t they? Catherine is always telling Camille that she wants grandchildren.” Richard tried to banish from his mind the image of Camille pregnant with another man’s child. Of course, it had to happen one day, but still… Fortunately, Juliet interrupted his train of thought.

“Hiding out from the chaos?” she laughed as she handed them bottles of beer.

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of quiet, Princess,” said David.

Juliet kissed her father and said, “Oh, Daddy, you haven’t called me that for ages! I think it’s time to transfer that nickname to Rosie.”

“No, she’s my Rosebud. You’ll always be my little Princess.”

Richard watched the fond exchange and thought back to a conversation he’d had with Camille the night of the hurricane.

_“And now?” Camille asked. “Do you think your Dad is proud of you?”_

_“I don’t know,” Richard replied. “I think sometimes, when I’m not around, he is. But when I’m with him, it seems that disappointment radiates off him.”_

_“Maybe he just has trouble expressing his emotions. You must get it from somewhere.”_

_Richard smiled slightly and shrugged, “No, I think it’s genuine disappointment.”_

Richard returned to the present when he heard Juliet and David laugh.

“I mean, I just finally rid of the baby fat,” she said. “I told her to go nag the boys and give me another year! I’m enjoying getting into pretty dresses I haven’t worn for years.”

“And you look lovely in that one,” said David.

“Yes, you do look lovely,” Richard echoed. 

“It’s a treat to be able to dress up. I’m usually much more casual. It’s easier when you’re chasing a little one. But look at you, Sir!” she smiled at Richard. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you without a suit and tie.”

“Well, you know, um, just trying to deal with the heat.”

“And isn’t this better?”

Richard was fairly certain Fidel had told Juliet about his incessant grumbling about the heat, so he just nodded and said, “Yes, much better.”

David watched his daughter walk back to the noisy group of children. Richard thought back to earlier in the day. His plan to avoid scrutiny had one flaw. Camille was going to drive him to the party.

_“Richard? Are you ready? Please don’t tell me you’re—” For possibly the first time in all the months Richard had known Camille, she was speechless._

_“Don’t tell you what?” he asked nervously, as he realized that her silence was due to his unusual (for him) attire._

_“I was going to say don’t tell me you’re wearing a tie. But you aren’t. You’re… wow, how long have you had all this?”_

_“Um, a while.”_

_“Why haven’t you worn this before? Admit it, it’s much more comfortable than your suits.”_

_“Yes, it’s comfortable, but I can’t wear this to work. I really do need to be dressed more formally for work. I just… I didn’t know when to wear this, it’s so different. I mean, you were gobsmacked just now. I don’t want people gasping in shock.”_

_“I was stunned because I was all prepared for a fight over a tie and you robbed me of that fun. But there is still one thing,” Camille walked up to Richard and unbuttoned the top button of the knit shirt._

_“Stop that!” He swatted at her hands._

_“You don’t button a shirt like this all the way up.”_

_“Then why do they put a button there?”_

_“I don’t know. To placate obsessive-compulsives, maybe. But you are NOT wearing it all buttoned up.” Camille smoothed the collar and let her hand rest on Richard’s chest. “I like this look. And you chose a good color. It brings out the green of your eyes.”_

David watched Richard watching Camille run after one of the children. Juliet’s mother, Marie, had passed along some of what their daughter had heard from Fidel about the two detectives. Fidel and David thought it was just friction between differing personalities. Juliet and Marie were sure it was romantic tension. “Just like in a romantic comedy,” Marie had sighed.

“So when does the music start?” Dwayne’s voice got Richard’s attention.

“Probably after we eat,” said David. “Come join us, Dwayne. We’re escaping the noise. Rosie’s whole playgroup is here.

“Thanks. Hey, Chief.”

“Hi, Dwayne.”

“Nice,” Dwayne, said with a nod. 

Richard nodded back. See, he thought, that’s the thing about men. They don’t make a big issue over clothing. Dwayne acknowledged the change with a word and it was done.

-o-o-o-o-

Fidel fired up the barbeque and began to cook an early supper for the children. Rosie and her playgroup were seated at the table, and the mothers helped Juliet serve the children. 

Camille walked up to the three men and said, “The kids are about finished with supper, so it’s time for birthday cake.”

“We’re having cake before our supper?” asked Richard.

“No. Just come sing Happy Birthday and see the cake. After the kids finish, the playgroup will be going home. Then we’ll eat supper and have our cake later. Although if you want an early piece of cake, I’m sure nobody will mind.”

“No, I’ll wait.”

Cameras and phones were out in force as everyone serenaded Rosie and she blew out her candles. It occurred to Richard that there was something rather unhygienic about eating cake that a three-year old had blown on, but he tried to drive that thought away. 

Unfortunately, the removal of that thought made room for thoughts of Camille. Richard noticed that she looked wistful as she watched the children and their mothers. Camille grumbled when Catherine mentioned her desire to be a grandmother. But was Camille’s irritation due to her mother’s interference or to her own inability to find a husband and start a family? 

Catherine was helping to clear away plates when she glanced up and saw Richard looking oddly at Camille. He looked as if he wanted something, or wanted to ask something. He almost looked as if—no! Not Richard, surely. And Camille would never—or would she? Catherine watched as her daughter looked up and smiled at the Englishman. Catherine wanted grandchildren, but somehow Richard wasn’t the father she’d envisioned for them. But if that was what Camille wanted…


	3. Chapter 3

After the playgroup left, it was the adults’ turn to eat. Juliet had produced a feast. Most of the food was spicy, but she had kept some of the chicken out of the marinade, and Fidel grilled it without barbecue sauce for Richard. As plates were being passed, Juliet set the plain grilled chicken in front of Richard.

“Here you go, Sir.”

“Oh, thank you, Juliet. You didn’t have to—”

“It was no bother,” she said as she patted his shoulder. “Our family likes to see all of our guests enjoy their meal.”

From her seat next to him, Camille advised Richard on the heat level of various foods that were passed. With his plain chicken, salad, and roasted sweet potatoes, he had a meal that suited his palate. Nobody seemed to mind that he passed on the curried goat and the seafood with eyes. 

“Here, try this,” she said as she placed a few beheaded grilled shrimp on his plate.

“Thank you,” he replied softly, “But their friends are watching me.”

“Don’t look at them! In case you haven’t noticed, they’re dead and they can’t do anything to you.”

So Richard avoided looking at the seafood platter in the middle of the table and tasted the shrimp. He gasped at the spicy flavor.

“Here,” Camille spooned a fruit mixture onto his plate. “Eat this.”

Richard gratefully ate some of the mango-pineapple mixture and sighed. 

“Okay?” she asked.

“Yes. Why didn’t you tell me fruit is an antidote to these spices? I’d like a bit less spice on the shrimp, but combining it with the fruit is delicious.”

“See, if you’d only try things you’d like them.”

Farther down the table, Marie and Juliet exchanged glances and smiles. Definitely something going on.

Conversation and laughter swirled around the table as platters were passed for second (and third) helpings. Richard found himself chatting with one of Fidel’s sisters about which market vendors had the best fruit. Having seen Richard’s reaction to the fruit salsa, Anna made several suggestions for fruit combinations he should try. As he listened to her, Richard thought, How did I end up here? Invited to a party where he was the only outsider, the only one not from Saint Marie. But he didn’t feel like an outsider. He felt like part of the group, like part of an extended family. And it felt good.

Richard’s musings were interrupted when Camille bumped into him as she stood up. She started to gather up plates and Richard asked if he could help.

“No!” said Juliet. “We like to be traditional at these parties. Only the women clear the table. Cleaning-up time is the best time for gossip. Go join the other men for whatever passes for conversation amongst you.”

The men did not gossip. They mostly talked about sport, especially the chances of various teams at the upcoming World Cup. Richard, of course, fully expected England to win, and it seemed each man had a rooting interest in a different team. The natural outcome of such a difference of opinion was a bet, and soon a pool was formed. Wallets came out and David quickly had a handful of bills. Fidel, who always carried a small notebook in his pocket, made a list of betters and the countries they were supporting. 

“What are you up to?” asked Marie, who appeared to come out of nowhere. For a moment, Richard wondered if she was related to Commissioner Patterson. 

“Ah, my darling, just making a small wager on the World Cup,” said David. “And, no, you may not hold the pot. Richard, I think we can trust the Chief of Police with our money.”

“Absolutely,” said Richard, taking the money David held out. “I’ll lock it in the safe at the station.”

Soon they were called back to the table for birthday cake. Rosie announced that she wanted everyone to sing again. And, of course, that would entitle her to another piece of cake.

“She’ll never get to sleep,” Juliet sighed, but allowed her daughter an extra birthday treat.

After cake came music and dancing. Richard declined to dance, and sat with David and a few other non-dancers to watch. Fidel picked up Rosie and spun around with her. Then one of Juliet’s brothers took Rosie so that Fidel and Rosie could dance. About an hour after Rosie’s usual bedtime, Juliet turned off the music.

“Sorry, but someone needs to calm down or she will never get to sleep tonight.”

“Music, Mama!” said Rosie through a yawn.

“No, Rosebud,” said David, faking a huge yawn. “Come give Grandpa a hug. I’m soooo tired, I may fall asleep before I get home.”

“Oh my, I’m tired, too,” said Marie. She kissed her granddaughter, then her daughter, and they left. The older guests followed this lead, and the younger guests discussed where they should take the party. Despite his age, Dwayne considered himself part of the ready-to-party crowd and made a few suggestions. Several guests said their goodnights and headed to a bar in Honoré. 

“I guess it’s time to go,” Camille said to Richard. She held up two bags. “Juliet is sending us home with some food and an extra piece of cake.”

“I can probably get Fidel’s parents to take me home. I think they haven’t left yet.”

“No, I’ll drive you.”

“Are you sure? It sounds as if the party is moving into town, so if you want to go?”

“You don’t want to go there, do you?”

“No, but, you know, if you’d rather…”

“It’s fine. I’ll drive you.”

Camille handed the bags of food to Richard and got into the driver’s seat. “Come on!”

Richard had barely closed the door when she put the Defender in gear and stepped on the gas. Richard wondered how much she’d had to drink. But then, she always drove like that.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark when Camille woke. She was almost at the edge of the bed. She sighed. Like most people who usually slept alone, he took his half out of the middle. 

She turned onto her side and looked at him. How did I end up here? she wondered. Well, she knew that, didn’t she? She’d driven him home from the party. And they’d argued. It began when he complained that she hit too many potholes. He accused her of having had too much to drink and said perhaps he should drive. But she had no intention of stopping to let him change places, so she kept going. 

She had tried to defuse the argument by complimenting him again on his casual attire. He’d fit in well at the party. She was about to say something about the color of his shirt when he commented on her dancing.

_“And you do know how young Fidel’s brother is, right? And his cousin?”_

_“I was dancing, that’s all.”_

_“But they’re so young.”_

_“I danced with Dwayne, too, and he’s older than I am. So it balances out.”_

_“What?”_

_“On average, I guess my partners were near my age.”_

_“That is the most ridiculous and illogical use of mathematics I have ever heard!”_

_Instead of being angry at that, she started to giggle. Richard was jealous! “Well, YOU didn’t want to dance. You sat and talked about history with Juliet’s father all evening. Most of the men who were dancing were younger. It isn’t like I was trying to pick up one of them and take him home. In case you didn’t notice, I’m taking YOU home.”_

_“I told you I could get a ride from someone else.”_

_“You don’t get it!” she shouted as she stopped the car at his shack._

_“You’re impossible to understand!” he shouted back._

_“Then I’ll make it as clear as I can!” She unbuckled her seatbelt. Then she managed to clear the gearshift lever and climb onto Richard’s lap. And then she kissed him._

So that was _how_ they’d ended up in bed together. The real question was _why_ she had wanted to be here instead of going into town with the others. The man drove her crazy from Day 1, there was no denying that. He was cranky and seemed to hate everything about Saint Marie. When had she discovered that she wanted him?

She remembered their first case working together. She’d had to scold him to get him to treat her with the respect owed to her as a DS. At the end of the case, as they’d talked briefly about families, he’d said he was shipped off to boarding school when he was a child. It reminded her of something a classmate’s father had said one time. The classmate’s kitten had a tendency to hiss at everyone. When the girls said the kitten had no manners, the man explained that it had probably been taken away from the litter too soon, and hadn’t learned how to interact with its littermates. As a result, the cat didn’t interact well with other creatures, including humans. That became the girls’ explanation for any kind of bad behavior, whether it was the cat or any other animal or person. “Tsk, taken away from the litter too soon.”

Camille couldn’t imagine her mother sending her away at such a tender age. Perhaps being separated from his family before he was ready was why Richard was so bad at relationships. Like that kitten—oh, how he would HATE knowing she was comparing him to a kitten!—he hadn’t learned how to make friends. Whenever she thought about that, it made her want to hug him and tell him she was his friend. 

But tonight had gone way beyond friendship. She wanted to make the most of this quiet and closeness before he woke and panicked. So she moved closer, rested her head on his shoulder, and let her hand fall to his chest.

-o-o-o-o-

When Richard woke, something was tickling his chin. He was surprised to discover it was Camille’s hair. How had they ended up together like this? He remembered the argument in the car, then Camille unexpectedly kissing him. The surprise had rendered him incapable of thinking, so he let himself respond to her kiss. Soon it was clear that they wanted more than just kissing. So in between kisses, he’d managed to say “not here” and “my house.”

They’d managed to get from the car to his door with astonishingly little loss of contact, then he had to push her away so he could get his keys out of his pocket. Then they were in his kitchen. He’d picked her up and set her on the table. She wrapped her legs around him to pull him closer, and clothing started to come off. 

Not wanting their first time to be on a kitchen table, Richard managed to get his hands around her bottom and lift her. He carried her up the few steps to his bed and set her down as gently as he could. She pulled him down onto the bed with her. Some fumbling and the rest of their clothes were off. Richard hated that it was so dark. He wanted to look at her, see what he had only imagined. But there was no way she was going to let him out of bed to turn on a light, and he was afraid that any interruption would give them the chance to come to their senses.

When it was over, he was in shock, unable to believe what had happened. 

_“Camille?” he said when he could catch his breath._

_“Shh.”_

_“But—”_

_“Don’t. Just shush and give me time to come back to earth.”_

_He took her hand in his, kissed it, and held it against his heart. They lay together like that until they fell asleep._

Right, he thought, so that was _how,_ but _why_ had it happened? Was it rational to go from passionate arguing to passionate kissing? And from there to where they were now? And why did it feel so good to be so close to her? He wrapped his arms around her, trying to enjoy the moment and not think about the morning when she’d probably kill him 

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille woke again, Richard had his arms around her. She snuggled closer, and finally realized how—and why—she ended up here. She was in love with him. This wasn’t just the warm afterglow of great sex. It had been so fast and desperate, she couldn’t honestly call it _great._ But now that they’d dealt with the tension, they could move on to truly enjoying each other. She spent some time thinking of strategies to defuse Richard’s inevitable panic and fear of rules before she dozed off again.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard woke again around sunrise. Camille was still in his arms. He wanted to wake her and make love again, but would she want that? He found hope in the fact that she was still with him. She could have crept out during the night, perhaps leaving him a little note, something along the lines of “It was great, but…” Anyway, it wasn’t exactly _great._ It was frantic and over too fast, the result of anger morphing into lust. But it got any first-time awkwardness out of the way. Now they could relax and take time to savor being together.

And now he had the answer to the third question. The one he’d been unable to ask himself. He’d known the answers to his first two questions for a while. How had he ended up on Saint Marie?—there had been a murder to solve. Why him?—the Guv saw an opportunity to offload a detective who didn’t fit in with “the boys.” And the third question, why did he want to stay?—the answer was in his arms.

So how to tell her, how to convince her that it hadn’t been just for one night. Yes, he’d been jealous last night. Yes, there’d been sexual tension between them for ages. But now that the tension had been relieved, there was a different level of desire, one filled with hopes and dreams that he’d kept buried for a long time. His attempts to think of a romantic speech were interrupted suddenly. 

Braaak! Buck buck buck. Thud.

Bloody chicken! he thought. “Get off!” Richard tried to kick at the chicken on the foot of the bed. The chicken hopped down to the floor, muttering to herself. And Camille rolled away from Richard.

“Camille?”

“Sorry, I’ll go,” she mumbled.

“What? No! Wait!” Richard reached out and gently held her in place.

“You told me to get off you.” 

The look of hurt on Camille’s face was something Richard never wanted to see again. “No, Camille, not you. One of those damn chickens was on the bed. 

“Oh.” So now what? she wondered.

“I don’t ever want you to go.”

“Oh.” Camille relaxed. Maybe the panic she’d been dreading wasn’t going to happen after all.

Richard sighed and shook his head, “Of all the scenarios I imagined for this morning, being disturbed by a chicken was not one of them.”

Camille rolled onto her side, facing Richard. She smiled and said, “Then let’s forget the whole chicken episode. Tell me your best scenario.”

“Right. So no chicken, obviously. You’d wake in my arms, say a drowsy good morning…”

“Like this?” Camille rolled them back into their previous position.

“Mm hmm. And then I’d tell you that I love you. And mmph—”

“Like that?” Camille asked after she finished kissing him.

“Mmm,” he replied, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “That’s what I hoped for. It seems you can read my mind.”

“That’s because I love you, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

Surprised to find himself blinking back a few tears, Richard slipped into the pew beside Camille. How did I end up here? he wondered. And how had the time passed so quickly? Camille reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He returned the squeeze, and sighed, remembering a time when she’d squeezed his hand so hard he thought he’d never be able to use his fingers again.

_“Ayyyyyyyyy!” Camille’s voice got louder with every contraction._

_“Breathe, Camille. Remember the breathing exercises.”_

_“YOU breathe! I’m too busy—ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”_

_“It won’t be long now, hang on.”_

_“I hate you, Richard Poole!”_

_“I love you, Camille Poole!”_

_“You are never—ayyyyyyyyyyy!—NEVER EVER touching me again!”_

The priest’s voice brought Richard back to the present. He looked up at his firstborn standing in front of the priest. It didn’t seem possible. How did they get from first steps, learning to ride a bicycle, and first day of school to a wedding? He had to blink to keep himself from seeing a six-year-old instead of an adult.

Camille knew how Richard was feeling. Their little baby, all grown up and starting a new life. She still remembered when that life was very new.

_“And here she is! Here’s your daughter!” The doctor checked the baby over and soon the little bundle was handed to her father. Camille would never forget the look of astonishment mixed with joy on Richard’s face._

_Then, of course, Richard ruined the moment by saying, “Hey Tulip, come see what your mother looks like from the outside.”_

_“Richard!” she’d hissed at him as she reached out to take her little daughter into her arms._

_“What?”_

_“Really? You don’t think that was an inappropriate comment? And also a name we are NOT using!”_

“Do you David James take Catherine Grace…” the priest began the vows, and Camille smiled at the memory of Richard calling her Tulip. He’d wanted a flower name for their daughter, to go with Camille’s flower name. They’d started it as a joke. Petunia, Tulip, Pansy, Morning Glory. Not Rose, as that name was already “taken” by Fidel’s first child. But throughout the pregnancy, they’d used a variety of flower names, even though Camille had no intention of making any of them their baby’s actual name.

“Do you Catherine Grace…” the priest continued, and Richard remembered their discussions about choosing names. 

_“No. Not a flower.” Camille shook her head._

_“But…”_

_“No. What about a name that we both like? No connection to anything, just a nice name?”_

_So they each made a list of names. He complained that hers were too exotic. She said his choices were boring._

_“What about our mothers’ names?” Camille asked. “The only problem is whose name would be the first name?”_

_“If we do that, it has to be Catherine Grace,” Richard said firmly._

_“Your mother will be okay with that?”_

_“Yes. She was teased about her name when she first married Dad.”_

_“Why? Grace Poole sounds nice.”_

_“Sounds nice, but it’s the name of a dodgy character in a novel.”_

_“Really?”_

_“In Jane Eyre, she’s the rather odd character who lives in the attic. Many people think it’s the name of the crazy wife, and Mom got teased about it.”_

_“I have no idea what you mean.”_

_“You’ve never read Jane Eyre? It’s a classic. I thought all girls read it.”_

_“An ENGLISH classic, not a FRENCH classic.”_

_Richard sighed. How could they ever raise a child together if their Englishness and Frenchness kept butting heads like this? “Catherine Grace is a good choice, and Mum will like it.”_

And now Catherine Grace Poole was going to become Catherine Martins. Richard wondered what she was going to use for a middle name, Grace or Poole? He hadn’t thought to ask. Not that it was his decision, anyway. Either way, she wasn’t his little girl any more. She was David’s wife. 

Richard glanced at the pew behind them as he heard his mother-in-law sniffle. He saw his son hand Catherine a handkerchief, and was proud of how well Michael was supporting his grandmère. Catherine had been delighted to see Camille FINALLY get married—even if it was to a stuffy Englishman. But when her namesake announced her engagement, Catherine cried and declared that Cathy was “still a baby.” Apparently, great-grandchildren weren’t the necessity that grandchildren were. 

Catherine had definitely wanted grandchildren, and more than one. Cathy barely had her first tooth when Catherine was asking when Richard and Camille were going to have their next baby. Despite not being eager to be pregnant again, Camille did think that it would be nice for their daughter not to be an only child. Richard, who had always longed for a sibling, agreed. He remembered that when she had given birth the second time, Camille decided that everything was Richard’s fault.

_“We have one of each and I am DONE!”_

_“And you have done very well, Darling. Two beautiful healthy children.”_

_“And NO MORE! If you ever want to touch me again—”_

_“You threatened me with that when Cathy was born, and little Michael here is proof that you didn’t carry out that threat.”_

_“I have a new threat. You had better get a little snip, Richard. Or I will make a much larger cut!”_

_They had discussed a vasectomy before, and Richard knew it was a good way to end procreation but continue sex. And when she put it that way, well, Richard visualized the chef’s knives in the kitchen and agreed._

What a thing to be recalling in the midst of a wedding, Richard chided himself. He rose along with the other guests and watched Mr. and Mrs. David Martins walk down the aisle. 

How did I end up here? he wondered again. A little luck and a lot of love. And thank God for Camille, his partner, lover, and best friend. He’d never have got here without her.


End file.
